


In Darkness

by Darksilvercat



Series: Salvation 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas!whump, Early Season 4 fic, Gen, Torture, once upon a long long time ago i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilvercat/pseuds/Darksilvercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has been captured by demons. Salvation comes in an unexpected form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal on November 23rd 2008.

There was only darkness. Soft cloth wrapped around his eyes in stark contrast to the thin metal wires that were biting into his wrists. He didn’t need to see to know that the wires had cut into his skin. The slick, sticky sensation of blood was strange, but not unfamiliar.

It hurt.

The pain fascinated him. He had never felt pain like this before, sharp and stinging and so very human. The wires around his wrists were taut, pulling his arms up and out, away from his body at an awkward angle. The only way to ease the pain was to stand as straight as possible, shoulders set, legs planted firmly. It wasn’t so difficult right now, but earlier; when his captives had punched and kicked and beaten him out of sheer amusement; he had been unable to prevent himself from sagging forward, the wires refusing to let him fall, cutting deeper into his wrists as his shoulders twisted and bruised at the unnatural angle.

The wounds healed as quickly as they came, but the pain remained. Every muscle in his body ached, his skin prickled with the remembered presence of the cuts and bruises, gone before they ever had a chance to bleed.

Only his wrists bleed. The thin steel wires that hold him in place have been meticulously engraved with demonic markings that he can sense without even seeing them. They make his stomach twist, binding him into this weak human form, sealing flesh and spirit together, and he feels trapped within this skin.

He’s afraid.

They aren’t just keeping him for fun. He’s to be a gift, they tell him. A gift for an old friend. He remembers the sensation of a hand around his neck, of evil creeping around him, darkness tugging at him as an ancient spell is cast. He knows it would have dragged him into hell had it not been interrupted. He prays, but bound within this human form, he doesn’t know if his Father hears him.

_Save me._

One of his captors returns. It taunts him, mocking his weakness, challenging him to unleash the full power and fury of his true form. He tries, but the demonic magic that binds him is too strong. Its evil is like a cold fist squeezing at his heart; it smothers his light and renders him shivering and helpless.

Cool metal drags across his skin. He cannot see, but he feels the knife as it traces the contours of his torso, cutting into him and outlining the hard edges of muscle with blood. It doesn’t heal. The knife- engraved and enchanted like the wires that bind him- carves a steady path across his chest, slowly pressing deeper, until he can feel his muscles tearing. The creature whispers dark threats in his ear, its sulphuric breath mixes with his own and he feels physically sick. He holds on to the sensation, a welcome distraction from the more immediate pain as his torturer glides it’s blade across his collarbone, pressing it into the hollow between shoulder and neck. He grits his teeth, but is unable to prevent a whimper of pain escaping. His captor relishes it.

_What do you want from me?_

He spits the words out harshly, and it merely laughs and continues its work. 

He doesn’t speak again, doesn’t so much as gasp when the knife creates a matching wound on his other shoulder. His breathing becomes ragged when it begins to carve a notch between each vertebra of his spine, but he doesn’t cry out. The creature becomes impatient, twisting the knife deeper and deeper, but he will not give it this pleasure. He keeps his head tilted back, and imagines that he can see a glimmer of light in the endless darkness. Silently, he prays. 

*****

Salvation comes in an unexpected form. As the creature methodically carves its way down his spine, a new sound reaches his ears. A voice chants in Latin, muffled by the wall between them but clear enough for the sanctified words to give him comfort. A moment later a deafening crash heralds the arrival of his rescuer. The demon snarls impatiently and twists the knife extra deep, as though the intrusion is his fault, and then he feels it move away, hears the sounds of a brief scuffle, followed by an electric crackle, and the scent of sulphur is suddenly pervading the room.

"Oh my God."

He had never thought he’d be happy to hear that voice, but his heart lifts, even as a second voice echoes the sentiment in its own unique manner.

"Son of a bitch."

For some reason, as the knowledge that he is safe- that he is saved- sinks in, his strength seems to desert him. His legs betray him and he sags forward, the wires biting deeper into his wrists even as a sigh of relief escapes his lips. Then he feels a warm presence behind him, rough hands pressing against his chest and pulling him upright, pulling him back to lean against a cool leather jacket.

Without warning the tension in the wires breaks and his arms drop heavily to his side. He begins to fall, but the hands pull him back, holding him steady as the man behind him sinks carefully to his knees. The movement causes every one of the cuts on his torso to re-open, and he cries out in protest but the man soothes him gently.

"It’s okay, I’ve got you."

He can hardly believe the tone, he’s never heard such compassion in the man’s voice, has never expected it to be directed at him.

A hand moves to his face, tugging gently at the blindfold. The light hurts his eyes as the cloth falls away but he doesn’t close them, doesn’t even squint. He welcomes the brightness, thanks God for it. Dean Winchester’s face comes into view, his green eyes filled with concern and compassion.

He is lying on the floor, Dean kneeling behind him so that his upper body rests across the man’s lap. His head is pressed against Dean’s chest at an awkward angle, but he doesn’t care. A second pair of hands gently touches his wrists, he tries to look but Dean stops him.

"Just lie still," Dean tells him softly, and he obeys.

To his surprise it doesn’t hurt as much as he expected when Sam Winchester gently untangles the wires from his wrists. The boy’s fingers move with utmost care as he pulls steel from skin. All the while Dean holds him gently, speaking soft words of reassurance. He doesn’t understand why they show him such compassion, for when has he ever given them cause to care about him? Yet their words are soft, their movements gentle as they free him from his restraints.

As the demonic bindings fall away he feels as though a weight has been lifted from him. There is still pain- his wounds will take some time to heal- but some strength returns, and he struggles to sit up. Pain flares but he clamps it down, focussing on the steady hands on his shoulders.

"Can you stand?"

He hesitates, unsure of the answer. The brothers glance at one another.

"Maybe we should get him to a hospital?" Sam suggests uncertainly.

"That won’t be necessary."

He barely recognises his voice, it’s dry and cracked and far too quiet, and both boys eye him skeptically.

"Have you seen you?" Dean asks, but his tone is still one of concern.

"I will recover soon enough. I just need to rest," he assures them, and though the words sound unconvincing with his voice so broken, they appear to believe him.

"Okay then," Dean concedes, nodding to his brother.

Sam kneels at one side of him and Dean kneels at the other. They each hook one of his arms around their necks, then slide their own arms around his back. Dean’s fingers grip the belt on Sam’s side, and Sam’s fingers hook into a belt loop on Dean’s side, and between them the brothers heave him upright. Pain lances through him and he falters, swaying precariously for a moment, but the brothers stand strong beside him.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," Dean says.

Leaning heavily on the Winchester brothers, he begins to walk. The three of them move slowly but steadily towards the door, pausing only to navigate past the empty meatsuit on the floor. The boys guide him out of the cabin, and when sunlight falls on his mangled skin, warming it instantly and soothing the torn and aching muscles, he raises his face to the skies and thanks God that the Winchesters are on their side.


End file.
